


Of Monsters And Men

by inatshej



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Fanart, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Magical Lydia Martin, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mild Blood, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Peter Hale/Lydia Martin, Minor Violence, Musician Stiles Stilinski, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Scott, POV Derek, Roach is the Best (The Witcher), Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Some Humor, Sterek Reverse Bang, Werewolf Isaac Lahey, Werewolf Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inatshej/pseuds/inatshej
Summary: Derek isn't a human, he's a monster.He can't be a monster, he lives and travels and kills for men.He does what needs to be done. (Stiles calls it his niche in the market.) Yet as necessary as Derek's existence is, there is no place for him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63
Collections: Sterek Reverse Quickie 2020





	Of Monsters And Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenclawkward](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkward/gifts).



> A Witcher!Sterek AU inspired by ravenclawkward's art for Sterek Reverse Bang 2020.  
> Warnings for blood, a bit of violence, swearing, and a bit of angst. And, well, for Witcher/Wiedźmin references Sapkowski would probably kill me for.  
> Also, hopefully this is the closest I ever come to naming a fic because of a song - Of Monsters And Men is a music group. Check out one of their songs here: https://youtu.be/DbYvKrO-XqI

Derek waits for his patience to somehow grow and expand enough to stand whatever is happening. It's an exercise Stiles provides him with too often.

He hears a string being plucked, some muttering and humming.

He sighs and looks to the side. “What are you doing.”

Stiles glances at him from above his lute. “Composing.”

“Composing,” echoes Derek.

“Yup.” Stiles plays a few chords. “It's my hobby.”

“Hobby,” he repeats.

Stiles hums and grins. “Oh, well... I guess I can tell you. Music just makes me that much more attractive, you know?”

Derek stares at him.

“It makes me popular,” explains Stiles. “You should try it, too.”

Derek stares at him more.

“In any case, you should get a hobby. Like fishing or origami. Would help with those anger issues.”

Derek stares, then turns and pretends to go to sleep. Sometimes there's only this much he can take.

* * *

“We need to go to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles groans. “That shithole? Why?”

Beacon Hills is his birth town but Derek isn't offended. Stiles' criteria for judging towns are too closely related to the probability of him finding lovers. Apparently, his chances aren't high enough in Beacon Hills.

“I'm running out of my potion.”

Stiles frowns at the bottle. “What, that green shit? I can make it.”

“I'm not letting you experiment on me.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “That was one time. And I know how to make this. I'll just need bindweed, albedo, shrike... Well, I may not get white honey, but wives' tears are a good enough substitute...”

“Stiles,” he starts warningly.

“Yeah, yeah,” mutters Stiles. “Whatever.”

Derek looks at him.

“What? I'll make it. Just give me some leeway, okay? I need some _space for creation_.”

Derek doesn't feel like going to Beacon Hills either, but Stiles doesn't need to know it. “I need to drink your creation.”

Stiles gives him a calculating look. “Was that supposed to be an innuendo?”

“No,” replies Derek and goes to Roach.

“Because it was horrible,” says Stiles. “I can give you lessons!”

Derek stops himself from making a face and gets on the horse. “No need.”

“Class one: cum is cum. Don't look for other words. Don't say 'creation'.”

Derek gallops away.

* * *

Derek regards his reflection. White hair, yellow eyes, too many scars. He doesn’t look human because he isn't one. He is a monster, created to kill monsters.

“And now it's perfect,” says Stiles, standing behind him.

Derek looks at the little pink flower that appeared in his hair.

“It's the last ingredient for your potion. Will be ready tomorrow.”

Stiles appears so humane compared to him. The difference is striking. There is nothing similar between them.

Derek notices a wrinkle in the water and frowns, observing it. “Stiles,” he starts, “I need my potion.”

“It's right there,” says Stiles, taking the flower from Derek. “Let it rest for a day longer, add those petals and you'll be set.”

Tense, Derek slowly stands up. “I need it now.”

“Jesus, you're so impatient. Do you know what else you need? A bonsai tree to care for as a hobby,” says Stiles. “Maybe that'd help with all this-”

An odd, long groan stops him.

Stiles turns to him. “What was that?”

“Fuck.”

* * *

“What do I do,” asks Derek, barely keeping his panic at bay.

“Blue thing,” says Stiles, then grimaces. “Dark one.”

Derek holds up the vial and Stiles drinks all of it in one go.

“Yellow.”

Derek finds three yellow things and shows them to Stiles, who needs a second to focus on them. He finally chooses one and takes a sip.

“I'm taking you to Beacon Hills,” says Derek and takes Stiles to Roach, clambering him up, then following.

“Shithole,” mutters Stiles and shivers. He's completely soaked from being dragged underwater.

“You can complain once you're there,” replies Derek and starts Roach to a gallop.

Stiles groans. “I'll probably lose consciousness, may gain it back for a while to lose it again. I'll be feverish, I won't be making sense. Don't listen to me. So, now-”

“No,” bites out Derek. “Stop it.”

“While I'm still in my right mind-”

“Stop talking. I don't want to listen to this.”

“Thank you,” says Stiles, his voice surprisingly loud and steady. “I've never thought I could do this. That I could travel and do magic and just...” He trails off. “'s nice.”

“Shut up.” Derek's hands are shaking. “Focus on healing yourself.”

“Beacon Hills' shithole,” repeats Stiles, his voice weak.

“I know,” says Derek. “I know. I'll find you some lovers there, just shut up. Keep in there.”

“'s a promise,” manages Stiles.

“Yes, I promise, for fuck's sake, be quiet and _heal yourself_.”

Stiles makes a sound of distaste but shuts up.

It doesn't look good. He hasn't been pushing Roach much recently so they may get to Beacon Hills in less than two days but Stiles might not have that much time. Derek can't think of any other city in the area, or even village — the ingredients for his potion grow in rather remote areas.

“Fuck,” he mutters and pushes Roach even more.

* * *

There's a man blocking his way when Derek's almost at Deaton's.

“Who are you? You have no right to come here.”

“I have all-” he starts, then changes his priorities. “Please. My friend is dying. I need to go to Deaton.”

The man — short brown hair, crooked jaw — regards him for a beat, visibly tense, then nods. “Fine. Follow me.”

Derek has to get down from Roach, who has no strength left to take him now, after they've slowed down. He has time to look more carefully at the man. He seems human but something about him bothers Derek.

“Scott McCall,” says the man, glancing at him.

“Derek Hale.”

McCall doesn't react to his name which is the best Derek can hope for.

They get to Deaton soon enough and Derek takes unconscious Stiles down, then brings him inside.

“Oh, Derek,” says Deaton, somehow completely unsurprised. “Good to see you. ”

Derek grunts instead of replying. He isn't happy to see Deaton at all. “We were attacked by a kikimora. He got hurt, drank the whole vial of dark blue liquid, then a bit of yellow stuff.” Derek reaches for Stiles' bag. “This one.”

Deaton hums. “When did that happen?”

“Less than two days ago.”

“That's — this is Stiles. What is he-” McCall looks up with wide eyes to Derek, then approaches him in two quick steps, crowding him against the wall. “What have you done?”

“We were attacked,” repeats Derek.

“He's my best friend,” says McCall, as if he hasn't heard Derek. “He's... he's my _brother_.”

Derek pushes down the irrational jealousy at the words. He's never heard about McCall but Stiles barely talks about his past. Derek has always been grateful for it as he didn't have to talk about his past, either. He's beginning to see the disadvantages.

“You’re a witcher,” continues McCall, “and Stiles is...”

“I need some Petri's Philter,” says Deaton.

McCall doesn't move, staring at Derek. Derek looks right back, sizing him up. He's pretty sure McCall is a werewolf and he has enough wolfsbane and Blizzard to manage... But if what he's saying is true, Derek would have to fight in a way to keep McCall alive and as unhurt as possible. That lowers his chances considerably.

“I could kill you,” says McCall quietly. “Stiles is hurt.”

“Scott,” says Deaton and almost imperceptibly grimaces. “Allison laughed at your joke yesterday.”

Derek can see McCall breathing hard.

“She said it was funny.” Deaton's voice suggests he doesn't share the sentiment.

Suddenly, McCall turns away with a huff. “We have enough of Petri's Philter,” he mutters and leaves.

Derek frowns after him, bewildered. “I'm not looking for a job right now,” he says to Deaton.

Deaton regards him with polite interest, his face clear. “Of course,” he replies. “I'll let the others know.”

Derek remembers why he doesn't like Beacon Hills with unpleasant clarity.

Deaton works in silence, preparing some potions. Derek realizes how weary he is from the fight and the travel. 

He looks at Stiles, remembers his feverish words. Some of them were about his physique. 

Derek feels his face grow hot and abruptly stands up. He goes out to take care of Roach.

* * *

McCall comes back with the whole Beacon fucking Hills.

“This is Allison,” he says. “My wife. We have ensured an alliance between elves and humans,” explains McCall, smiling proudly.

Allison is an elf. Derek has never liked elves but to be fair, he's never liked humans either.

“Witcher,” starts Allison, empathetic, “we're all surrounded by ghosts.”

Derek stares back. “I've never noticed.”

Allison burns incense stick, saying, “This will help him find his way back. Every time we sleep, our souls escape us.”

Derek grimaces at both the smell and elf philosophy.

Suddenly, Allison freezes and turns to throw a knife at the wall. The cockroach there is stabbed to death.

“We may use him for-”

“Absolutely not,” Derek interrupts her, then struggles to find the right argument. “We can't interfere with Deaton's treatment.”

Stiles would be better at this bullshit but Allison accepts the words.

“I suppose you're right,” she says. “The paths shouldn't cross.”

Derek feels older with every second passed here. He looks at McCall and sees him smiling at Allison, enchanted. This isn't the first time he sees a marriage between a werewolf and an elf, but it is the first happy one.

“I hate him,” says a tall, blond guy. Probably another werewolf. “Stiles is such a dick. What the fuck. I can't even call him an asshole when he's like this,” he says, looking at Derek and suddenly sobs.

Derek turns to the side, pretends to not notice.

“He'll be fine, Isaac,” says McCall. “Don't worry. Look, Allison even burns incense sticks. We all love him here.”

“I hate him,” repeats Isaac and sobs again.

“Right, witcher,” McCall turns to him. “This is Lydia Martin, she was learning magic alongside Stiles.”

Lydia Martin is a typical witch — beautiful, deadly, and fucked up. Every person concerned with magic ends up fucked up. In Martin's case it's visible through the way she stares at Derek, intense, probably imaging at least 3 ways to kill him and 5 ways to blackmail him.

“My pleasure,” she lies.

“Neither mine,” he replies.

“If you need to buy some potions, you can visit me sometime. I've always been better at it than Stiles.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “Stiles is doing fine.”

Martin grins and walks away. Derek frowns after her.

McCall nods. “I knew you'd be friends,” he says. “You’re both weird enough.”

* * *

“I've heard you were attacked by a kikimora.”

Derek holds off a grimace. “Peter.”

Peter has white hair, yellow eyes, and too many scars. He's a witcher and that's all the similarity they share. Peter is older, his clothes are better, and he always has an annoying, smug smile on his face.

“I once killed three of them. You're getting sloppy.”

Derek wonders how much of it is a lie. Peter has never been known for honesty.

“On the other hand, this song of his,” Peter points with his head to where Stiles is now awake, talking with everyone, “is not too bad.”

Another difference. Peter has always enjoyed music, literature, and art. Those are topics he's always been truthful about, too. 'Not too bad' means a lot coming from him.

“I'm not taking him as a lover!”

Derek turns to see that McCall has opened the door so that now he can see Stiles and the others inside.

“I'm not recruiting him,” he replies, taking in Stiles' smile, his still too pale skin, his fatigue.

“Yeah, right. And to think this is your first choice...”

Peter regards Stiles for a moment. “I could be persuaded,” he says.

“No way,” replies Stiles. “I'm not risking Lydia's anger.”

“It's fine by me,” says Martin with a shrug. “We share.”

“They do,” confirms Lahey.

Stiles looks at him, then at Martin. “That's nice,” he manages finally and turns to Derek. “See? I told you music makes me popular.”

“That's what you used to say about magic,” says McCall.

Stiles grins, satisfied. “And look where it got me!”

“Where?” asks Lydia.

“Well — I'm in demand. Right, Derek?”

“You create demand,” replies Derek, thinking back to all the flirting Stiles has done.

“And I satisfy it,” finishes Stiles, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

Derek feels odd. Stiles is around his friends, almost his family, he has his place here, yet he still chooses to engage Derek, draw him in. But Derek can also see the glances from McCall, his wife, Lahey. It's no wonder, Peter is still next to him. The sight of one witcher is uncomfortable, disturbing. The sight of two, together, should be terrible.

He takes a step back, ready to leave, when he notices Deaton.

“I want you to investigate what's happening in the preserve,” he says.

Derek is aware he said he wasn't looking for a job but now that Stiles is awake, is in his place, there's no need for Derek to stay.

“What's happening there?” asks Stiles.

“I got bitten there,” says McCall. “By a wolf.”

Stiles stares at him. “There are no wolves in Beacon Hills.”

“There was one. It bit me right here,” says McCall, touching his hip.

“Scott... There are no wolves here. That means that what has bitten you was... You know...” Stiles keeps looking at Scott, willing him to understand. “A werewolf.”

“Oh, come on,” says Scott. “That would have, like... changed me. Right? And I'm fine. I've never felt that good.”

“I thought you knew you're a werewolf?” says Allison.

“What?”

“Um, yeah,” says Lahey. “I actually wanted to ask you to spend the full moon together.”

McCall looks around, shocked. “I'm not... Look, I know I've been a bit different recently...”

“As in aggressive?” asks Lydia. “Bloodthirsty? I started preparing a potion for you to drink on the full moon so you won't kill anyone.”

“I won't kill anyone,” says McCall, visibly pale. “I'm not a...” He finds Derek's eyes. “Monster.”

“Ah, don't worry about Derek,” replies Stiles, apparently understanding Scott's thoughts. “He's a real fuzzball. He won't kill you.”

“Unless someone pays for it,” specifies Derek.

That works for calming Scott down. “Right. Yeah. Let's pretend I'm... like that.” He stares at his hands with wide eyes.

“It'll be fine,” says Lahey. “Even I got used to being a werewolf.”

“You were born a werewolf,” replies McCall woodenly.

Lahey nods, aiming for supportive and enthusiastic. “And I got there!”

McCall straightens suddenly. “But — the alliance! I was human when it was signed so-”

Allison shrugs. “It's not like I'm really an elf anymore, either. I married a human. That makes me a half-blood at most.”

McCall stares at her, aghast. “I didn't know.”

“Nothing has changed,” says Martin. “Except the probability of you killing someone or being killed are much higher.”

Stiles frowns at Derek, considering. “This is not some elaborate plan to turn Scott to my lover, is it? Even in a death and life case it'd be...”

“No,” Derek cuts him off. “No.” He looks away. “ _No_ ,” he repeats and realizes that's too much of a denial. He glances in the direction of the door. He thinks he should leave. He's out of place.

Yet Stiles still looks at him as if he's waiting for something.

“Really?” asks McCall rhetorically. “I... really?”

Derek has no intention of watching his identity crisis. “I'll go see the preserve.”

* * *

“So what are we looking for?” asks Stiles conversationally, polishing his knife, then tucking it away.

Derek stops in place. “You’re supposed to be at Deaton's.”

“I obviously teleported.” Stiles realizes his joke missed the point and he grows serious. He shifts on the rock, leans against a tree. “Lydia helped me come here.”

“You should be resting. Healing.”

“Yeah,” mutters Stiles, rubbing his neck. “So what, you're doing this job, and then?”

Derek regards him, then looks away, overwhelmed. “I’ll find something. May go to Fen Aspra, haven't been there in a while.”

“You hate it there.”

Stiles loves the town. Derek shrugs.

“I think I should go there,” says Stiles, his eyes not leaving Derek. “You still haven't found lovers for me. You promised.”

Derek can't reply. He watches Stiles back, aware of the tension between the two of them. “You should stay here,” he says finally.

“I don't want to.”

Derek freezes in surprise. That's what _he_ always wanted, just a place for himself. It's ridiculous, an impossible daydream. But he comes back to the fantasy again and again, fully aware it is out of reach for him. But now, with Beacon Hills, with Stiles, he realizes there could be a way. With Stiles — if they were to travel but go back here, travel and find themselves here again. “Why?” he asks, bewildered.

Stiles looks at him oddly. “I told you already, didn't I? Or did I imagine that, too?” He frowns. “I want to keep doing this. Travel, do occasional jobs, research magic. Compose,” he grins but quickly grows sober again. “I've never had this freedom before. Besides...” Stiles straightens, slips closer to the sharp edge of the rock. “I like them,” he says pointing with his head in the general direction of the town with Deaton, McCall and the others. “I even like Beacon Hills but it's too much.” Stiles pauses and he suddenly seems much older. “I can't handle all of it, every day.”

Derek has heard the rumours of the way magic training can look like. He realizes there's a lot he still doesn't know about Stiles. “It's not freedom for me,” he says.

Stiles drops his eyes. “I know.”

Derek is so focused on him he doesn't notice the movement on the side. “We could-”

A feral werewolf jumps at Stiles and Derek takes out one of his swords, already stepping in. But just before the strengthened metal can slice the skin, the werewolf slumps, already dead.

Derek looks above the body at Stiles, not understanding.

“Didn't think it'd work that well,” says Stiles, appreciative. He takes out his knife, covered in blood and this black stuff werewolves somehow produce. “Right in the heart.”

Derek can't look away from his fingers. He's thought about it already, even when he didn't want to. He'd heard something, a phrase when Stiles was flirting, build around it, imagined. This isn't the first time. But right now, with adrenaline high, with this odd shift between them after Stiles got hurt, he can't keep it away.

“That's — a new look,” says Stiles, somehow breathless.

“It's not new for me,” replies Derek. It's as far a declaration as he can manage.

Stiles licks his lips. “I'm dirty,” he says. “The blood and the sweat-”

“I know.”

“You’re fucking kinky,” says Stiles, a slow smile growing on his face. 

“You can complain later,” answers Derek, his voice dropped low.

“I don't intend to,” replies Stiles, pulling Derek closer over the dead body and kisses him.


End file.
